


folklore: the novel

by desireeofsunshine



Category: folklore - Taylor Swift (Album)
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/F, F/M, Inspired by Taylor Swift, Song: exile (Taylor Swift ft. Bon Iver), Song: illicit affairs (Taylor Swift), Song: mirrorball (Taylor Swift), Song: my tears ricochet (Taylor Swift), Song: the last great american dynasty (Taylor Swift)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27888196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desireeofsunshine/pseuds/desireeofsunshine
Summary: my personal interpretation of taylor swift's album folklore.
Relationships: Betty/Inez, James/Augustine, james/betty
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. the last great american dynasty

“Mom…  _ Mom _ !” Betty’s voice echoes in the bathroom, sounding on the edge of hysteria even to her own ears.

She waits, listening intently as she continues to survey the shocking scene before her, but the upbeat music coming from somewhere in the house is her only answer. Hesitantly flicking off the light, she follows the sound to the kitchen where her mother, long blonde hair the same shade as her daughter’s messily piled on top of her head, is happily baking to the tune of “All You Need Is Love.”

“Mom, what... happened to your bathroom?”

“My bathroom?” Betty’s mom pauses, both hands on her wooden rolling pin, and nods at the fresh cookies on the counter. “Want one?”

Betty grabs one.  _ Snickerdoodle, her favorite _ … but back to the topic at hand. “Yeah, I couldn’t find my blow dryer so I was going to borrow yours but…” She shakes her head, not able to find the right words. 

“What was it, hon?”

“It’s… Everything was green.”

And I don’t just mean the rugs and towels and shower curtain—though those were all a pretty cream color before… whatever has transpired. I do mean  _ everything _ has flecks of green on it, dotting the wallpaper and floor and  _ ceiling _ , and the once-white tub looks like the scene of a grass stain commercial gone absolutely wrong. 

But Mom shrugs, the epitome of innocence as she uses her forearm to sweep loose hair from her forehead, and starts humming along with The Beatles, flattening the dough with her pin.

All Betty can do is shake her head again and enjoy her cookie. Her mother is known for being… eccentric so Betty reasons this may just be some new thing of hers to—

They hear their neighbor before they see him.

“Rebekah!” He shouts, followed by a handful of hard, insistent bangs on their front door. “Rebekah, you open this door! I know you’re home!”

“Mom, you didn’t…” Betty all but pleads.

Her mother’s too-innocent grin is her only response, but it's a response enough.

Betty groans, helplessly watching her Mom wipe her flour-covered hands on her apron as she heads to the front door. When it opens, their neighbor is fuming so hard his toupee is out-of-place and hanging crooked on his head. 

“What can I do for you—”

“My dog… is  _ green _ ,” he interrupts her mother. “Key lime green, in fact. And I  _ know  _ it was you!”

“No, you don’t.”

He pointedly looks at her mother’s hands—where her fingertips and between her fingers, now wiped clear of flour and dough, are stained… green. 

“Mom,” Betty quietly groans again.

Her mother pulls her dish-towel from an apron pocket and shoos her daughter off with it. As Betty heads up the stairs, she hears her mother saying, “Well, if  _ someone  _ did happen to kidnap your dog and dye it green, it  _ might _ be because you ran their tulips over with your lawnmower…” 

In her mother’s defense, she did spend all summer cultivating the red, pink, and white blooms to perfection to compliment their two-story yellow house. They had been her mother’s pride, only second to her beloved daughter.

It’s really no surprise to Betty that the beautiful flowers have fallen victim to her mother and their neighbor’s long-standing feud.

It began when they moved in years ago upon her father’s sudden, unexpected death. Betty was too young to remember it or, really, much of anything about her father, Bill, unfortunately, but it hit her mother hard. She packed up her newborn daughter and the handsome amount of money left behind by her deceased oil-tycoon husband and moved to a nice, charming neighborhood in Rhode Island.

Rebekah always claimed that the sunshine yellow house had immediately caught her eye, a bit run-down but nothing a little TLC couldn’t fix, and she’d persuaded the previous homeowners to vacate with a large incentive that included tapping into the aforementioned wealth she’d recently inherited. She was thrilled, happy to go back to the small-town life her husband’s well-off status had brought her out of.

Her next-door neighbor… Not so much.

He’s never liked them, claiming that Rebekah is too loud, too middle-class, too shameless, too…  _ everything _ . 

His views parallel quite closely with Rebekah’s former in-laws who didn’t approve of her and Bill’s marriage, especially considering she had already been married once before him—a spur on the moment decision she made when she was young and reckless and a bit too headstrong, much to her parent’s chagrin. It didn’t last half as long as it took to sign the marriage papers, but that didn’t matter to them. She was tainted in their eyes, a divorcee that could only want one thing from their son: his money.

They never even attempted to speak to her—or check on their granddaughter—after Bill’s passing. 

Perhaps that’s why Rebekah gives her all into besting her neighbor’s self-righteous attitude: because he reminds her so much of the disapproval she’s dealt with time and time again throughout her life. Or, perhaps she’s simply just as mad as he claims her to be. 

Either way, Betty thinks to herself, their feud doesn’t seem close to finding an end any time soon.

But she doesn’t have enough time this morning to dwell on her mother’s sanity or her neighbor’s safety (her mother  _ has _ resorted to kidnapping his pets now) because she has to get to school, lest she be late—and her perfect attendance would not agree with that.

Pulling on her backpack in her room and grabbing one last cookie from the kitchen for the road, Betty kisses her mother’s cheek, edges around her still-arguing and ever-angry neighbor, and sets off on her bike for school. 

Just another day in Betty’s life. 


	2. mirrorball

Betty’s always found the school library comforting—something about the smell of books, the feel of being surrounded by towering wooden bookcases, the overall ambience that exists in a place of such knowledge and imagination—so it was no hardship when her homeroom teacher sent her there to fetch a book he needed. 

The librarian, recognizing Betty from her many visits, nods her through and goes back to reading her magazine, not feeling the need to keep an eye on “one of her favorite students.” Betty doesn’t consider herself a teacher’s pet, but she does appreciate the sentiment; she likes when her teachers favor her.

She just likes… being liked.

Walking to the back of the library where the teacher’s edition books are kept, Betty double-checks her post-it note for the title. _Adventures in English Lit._

Ah, there it is—

Arms suddenly wrap around Betty from behind, trapping her arms against her chest before she can grab the book from the shelf. 

“A cardigan in the middle of summer, Betty?” the person hugging her murmurs against the side of her head. 

“It’s cold in the classrooms, James.”

His hold loosens and she turns in his arms, smiling up at her boyfriend. “What are you doing in here?”

“Hmm,” James leans in for a kiss. “What are _you_ doing in here?”

“I came as a favor to my teacher. Now, what’s your excuse, Mr. I Frequently Skip Class Because I Think It’s Boring?”

His answering grin is mischievous. “I’m skipping homeroom because I was bored.”

She giggles, though she knows she shouldn’t encourage his bad behavior. He leans in again, gently pushing Betty against the bookcase behind her, and kisses her nose. Once. Twice. Three times. And then bends to press a second to her lips. 

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to come tonight?”

“Dances aren’t really my thing, sweetheart. You know I hate crowds. But,” James presses another kiss against Betty’s lips, “ _this_ certainly is.”

Betty, still smiling, shakes her head. “Okay. Okay, if you’re sure, I won’t ask again. But I really do need to get going before they suspect I’m skipping... like you.”

“Ouch,” James jokes, rubbing at his heart with a frown, “burn.”

Stealing one last kiss, James takes a peak at Betty’s note and searches the shelf behind her, pulling the book down for her. She takes it, hugging the thick tome against her chest, and eases around James. 

“See you later.”

“See you, sweetheart.”

James watches Betty go, her shoulder-length blonde hair waving naturally in the mid-year humidity and her skin still softly freckled from summer break.

They started dating at the beginning of last year, her a sophomore and him a junior, and it was the first summer they’d spent together. Nearly every day of break, they were together—watching her paint landscapes in her bedroom, teaching her to play guitar, picnics in the field near her house, kissing in his car.

He couldn’t get enough of her. And, thankfully, she felt the same about him. 

Of course, spending his every waking free moment during the summer with Betty also had its downsides. It made him forget, just for a moment, how miserable his life away from her actually was.

When the new (and his last) year of school started, Betty stayed busy—after-school clubs for dance committees and recycling and something else he couldn’t remember that kept her from being able to occupy him.

Without her, he no longer had a reason to avoid going home.

Of course, he could use the dance tonight as an excuse but jumping from one hell straight into another didn’t really strike him as a wise idea. _Fight with an alcoholic father or suffer the claustrophobia that comes with_ _being surrounded by a sea of strangers_ , James idly wonders to himself as he ambles to the exit.

He knows it bothers Betty, his truly good-hearted girlfriend, when he bends the rules, regardless of his decent GPA or his equally decent attendance record. Though he may have acted indifferent before, he’s going to head back to class because he noticed the strain in her smile. It bothers her.

James doesn’t want to be a strain on Betty, the way his father is for him.

He wants to be good for her. He tries to be good. And all things considered, he feels like he’s doing well enough.

Holding the suspicious stare the librarian levels him with, James turns backward and uses his back to open the library door. He’d be willing to admit that he could try better in some areas but—

“Oh!”

James’ eyes widen as something—no, _someone_ —slams into his back. He spins around a moment too late, the brunette knocking backwards to the floor before he can stop her. 

He offers a hand, saying, “Sorry, I wasn’t—”

“Watching where you were going, I know.”

Ignoring his hand, she pushes herself up and then raises her dark eyebrows at him. 

“What?” he asks, wondering where the hostility is coming from. It’s not like he _meant_ to make her fall. 

“Can you move or is there another obvious statement you feel the need to make in lieu of an apology?”

Right, he is… still standing directly in front of the doors to the library.

“Sorry,” he mutters, sidestepping. 

“Oh, so you’ll apologize for _that_. Figures.”

Now he’s the one raising his eyebrows, unable to stop staring as the strange, surprisingly aggressive female disappears into one of his girlfriend’s safe spaces.

His girlfriend.

James barely smothers a laugh, imagining for a moment what it would be like if Betty were that antagonistic. He couldn’t believe that anything would possibly make her act that way. Hopefully, he’d never live to experience it.

The rest of the day drags for Betty, an unusual occurrence for her. School is normally something she enjoys—test days aside—but she’s excited for tonight. Her first upperclassman dance.

Of course it would be much better if James had agreed to come, but she wasn’t the only person among her peers planning to go alone and she had more than a handful of friends that she could hang out with tonight.

But, despite the drag, the school day eventually ends. James and Betty walk home together—James hardly drives to school because he lives so close, and he knows that Betty prefers to ride her bike—until they’re forced to split ways to get to their respective houses. 

Basking in the afternoon sunshine, Betty rides up with a smile—and it only widens upon seeing her mother replanting tulips where her others were supposedly (and more than likely) chopped down by the neighbor’s lawn mower. 

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, hon. There’s more cookies in the kitchen.”

There’s always cookies when Betty’s mom has done something vengeful. That should’ve been her second warning sign—the first being the green bathroom.

Breezing through her homework, Betty makes quick work of changing into one of her favorite simple linen dresses. The baby blue material compliments her eyes perfectly and the off-the-shoulder top lets her keep her hair down. It’s cute, it’s comfortable, and Betty’s ready in no time. 

Reminding her mom of her plans for the night, Betty gets her bike and rides back to the school, trying to quell any lingering disappointment she feels about going alone. She would never make James do something he’s not comfortable with and if a dance wouldn’t be any fun for him, she would rather go by herself anyway.

The dance committee did a great job setting up the gym, crepe paper streamers lining the entrances, a sectioned-off wall area photobooth, and lowlights reflecting off the spinning disco balls hanging from the ceiling.   
“Those were a great idea, Betty!” approves a fellow committee member upon finding her in the dancing crowd.

And Betty would have to agree. The disco balls really did add a special touch to the whole thing.

Celebrating a good start to her junior year and a job well done decorating the dance, Betty falls into a crowd of her dancing friends and makes a promise to herself to make the most of the night.

Unbeknownst to her, on the far side of the gym, James has just arrived.

Though he said he wasn’t interested in attending the dance—and he still really isn’t all that into it even upon pushing aside the pink and white and silver streamers hanging from the gym doorway—James reconsidered just how awful a dance might be compared to his father throwing empty beer bottles at him as soon as he walked through the door.

At least Betty is here... somewhere in this dimly lit, sparkly room. Betty would make this all more bearable. First, he just needs to find Betty.

And, as if the universe heard his thoughts and decided to throw him a bone for once, there she was but… There _he_ was too. Some other guy with his Betty.

James frowns, unable to force himself into the crowd to get to her.

But it doesn’t look to him like Betty needs him anyway.

He’d thought she might have been a little disappointed not to have him accompany her tonight, to the dance she’d talked about helping plan for hours on end, but there she is. Laughing. Smiling. _Dancing_ with some other guy.

A guy that’s very much not him.

Shaking his head, James turns and heads for the exit. He should’ve known better. He’d told her he wasn’t coming; he shouldn’t have came. End of story.

At least if he’d kept his word, he wouldn’t have—

“Gosh, do you _ever_ watch where you’re going?” complains the same brunette from before, barely avoiding him practically running her over in his attempt to escape.

“Sorry, I was just… I…” James swallows, trying to slow the thoughts racing through his head at lightspeed. “Sorry.”

The fire in her brown eyes dimming at whatever she sees on James’ face, she offers a small, tentative smile and holds out her hand. “The name’s Augustine. You are?”

“James.”

“James,” she repeats, nodding. Biting her lip, she glances behind him to the darkened gym then behind her to the glass doors leading outside. After a moment’s hesitation, she says, “Would you like to get out of here, James?”

And after a moment’s hesitation from him, he replies, “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

_Anything to make the thoughts stop._

In the gym, Betty takes a break from dancing to grab some punch. _James would’ve liked this_ , she thinks after thirstily gulping down half her cup. After all, she did consult him about punch recipes. It’s really too bad he didn’t—

“Hi, Betty.”

Betty finishes off her drink, lowering her plastic cup to see a familiar face framed by tight curls that she hasn’t talked to in… Gosh, _ages_.

“Inez, hi!”

Betty’s old childhood friend rings her hands, a nervous, almost sad smile pulling at her lips. “Can I… Can I talk to you for a sec?”


	3. illicit affairs

It has been… a long time since James was alone with a girl. A girl besides his girlfriend, anyway. 

_His_ _girlfriend_. James shakes his head, stopping that train of thought real fast—but there’s another right behind it, rolling straight into the station. _His girlfriend who was dancing in the middle of a crowd with another guy, laughing at some joke that probably wasn’t even funny._

He just… doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to think, to pretend, to exist when he feels like this. He doesn’t want to do anything— _ be  _ anything.

A mindless distraction, that’s what he’d wished for and then… There she was, as if he’d simply thought her into existence. A figment of his worst intentions, only…

Is it actually so wrong for him to not want that feeling in his chest? The pain that accompanied his thoughts? Is it so wrong for him to want that all to disappear, that he’d wished to be away from Betty if that’s what it took to make it happen?

Looking at the girl beside him, her dark hair wildly blowing around her heart-shaped face thanks to her open window, he isn’t so sure.

The roar of her older model truck is the only companion to their silence. She has the radio off, something Betty never allowed the few times they were in his car because she loves singing along to—

No. Nope. He doesn’t need to think about Betty right now. That was the whole point. He isn’t with Betty. He’s with Augustine.

Augustine.

It isn’t  _ bad _ , necessarily, being alone with her.

A little uncomfortable, yes, because in the abruptness of their plans, neither of them had really stopped to consider that they don’t know each other, that things could grow awkward the further away they drove from the school dance. The longer the silence lingers, the more obvious it becomes that neither of the teens had put much thought into what would happen once they actually left together.

Now, neither of them jump at the chance to be the initiator of a conversation—Augustine because she’s still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she was bold enough to invite the cute boy out ( _ and _ he agreed) and James because he’s so used to crude, obnoxious male company that he just isn’t sure how to talk to this girl without coming off as rude himself.

Clearly, he’d already made quite the impression, if their interactions so far were any indicator.

He isn’t sure what caused such ire to stir up both times they’d bumped into each other, but he isn’t in a hurry to unintentionally piss her off again. Not when she’s his only shot at a somewhat pain-free night. 

And because he has no idea where she’s taking them. 

He just… doesn’t know what to say. With Betty, he can always rely on her to strike up conversation, her bubbly personality enough to bring even a statue to life—

_ Dammit, not again.  _

Forcing his first thought out of his mouth, James blurts, “Maybe you should pull your hair back so it’s not in your face while you drive.”

She glances at him from the corner of her eye, brushing away errant strands that catch on her eyelashes. “I don’t mind it. We’re almost there anyway.”

Right. Their destination. Probably what he should’ve started with instead of… her hair. 

“So you actually have a destination in mind?”

“I  _ do _ happen to know where we currently are and where we’re heading to, yes.”

_ Great _ , thinks James as he looks out at the darkened, rather desolate backroad they’ve been traveling along for quite some time now,  _ because I have no earthly clue where we are _ —and he’s lived in this town his whole life. 

More silence ensues. 

James doesn’t want Augustine to think he mistrusts her—though he doesn’t, necessarily, happen  _ to  _ trust her—and Augustine doesn’t want James to regret coming with her. 

Augustine slows the truck and it’s not until they’re right on it that James notices a break in the trees that have been steadily lining the roadside for miles now. She pulls between them, though there is no road leading this way, like she’s been through here a hundred times before.

Up ahead, the dirt road opens up to a wide body of water, Augustine’s headlights reflecting across the calm surface. They come to a soft stop and, turning the truck off, James can make out the rhythmic chirping of crickets. 

“I found this place a little while ago. I like to come here to relax, to clear my head for a moment,” Augustine admits. “And, well… You looked like you could use that too.”

Not waiting for his answer, she opens her door and gently closes it behind her, not wanting to disrupt the tranquility. James can’t make her out very well with the moonlight obscured by passing clouds but… It doesn’t take him much convincing to follow her lead, cautiously stepping out into the warm night.

He stumbles along the path, uncovered roots and overgrown weeds snagging at his ankles, until he nearly topples over Augustine’s legs. Mumbling another apology, he takes a seat a safe distance away from her. 

The silence here… isn’t so stifling. 

Maybe because of the open air. Or the singing insects filling the void for them. Or because, like Augustine said, something about this place really is soothing.

Yeah, being with her isn’t so—

Augustine suddenly pulls off her black booties and James doesn’t think much of it… until she stands and starts pushing her darkened tights down her thighs. He can’t make his tongue cooperate until they’re down past her calves. 

“What… Wait, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like, James?”

“Like you’re undressing but… I’m not sure… why…”

She pulls one foot free, followed by the other. Then she raises, smiling despite the bewildered expression on James’ face, and tosses her tights at him. They hit him in the chest, dropping into his lap. He stares at them wide-eyed, too.

When her hands move to the hem of her red dress, James jumps back to his feet, hands in the air. “Okay, that’s… I think that’s enough—”

Augustine’s laughter joins the cacophony of insects. James spins around when the dress rises above her hips, a flash of black panties catching his eye right before he turns.

“Chill. I just thought a swim sounded nice.”

“And you felt you needed to get naked for that?”

More laughter, along with the sound of water rippling. “Not naked, no. But have you ever tried swimming in a dress? Not the fun time I’m envisioning for right now.”

_ Fun time _ ? James feels like his entire face—no,  _ body _ —is on fire, ready to combust at any second. That’s not his idea of a fun time either. 

“Are you going to join me, James, or just sulk over there all by yourself?”

Join her? The idea is as preposterous as it is tempting. 

Seeming to sense his indecision, Augustine sings, “The water sure is warm and relaxing. You’re just…  _ really _ missing out.”

_ Just like he’d missed out on the opportunity to take Betty to the dance so she filled his spot with some faceless other guy. _

Shaking his head, he discards his clothes in record time, his button-down shirt and jeans joining Augustine’s pile.  _ No more of those thoughts. No more.  _

The water is pleasantly warm, not so bad to make the night feel sweltering but not cold enough to make him dread wading in far enough for his feet to just barely touch the rocky floor. A few feet away, Augustine makes eye contact with James and, with that same mischievous smile still pulling at her lips, she ducks her head under the water. James watches the water, small ripples brushing across the surface, until she pops back up—a little bit closer than before—with her hair darkened and slicked completely back.

Like this, James really… takes notice of Augustine’s face: her deep-set eyes, fuller lips, and strong nose. Her complexion is darker than his, than most Rhode Island natives, and he wonders if she has any Mediterranean or possibly even Indian somewhere in her bloodline.

She’s… just different. Not in a bad way but...

“I don’t… I feel like I haven’t seen you before that day outside the library, but I know I would remember a face like—”

James cuts himself off, mentally chastising himself.  _ What is he saying _ ? He would “remember a face like hers?” No, he wouldn’t. He doesn’t pay attention to any girl other than his girlfriend. His beautiful girlfriend, Betty, that he cares so much about. 

Though he’s no longer sure he can say the same for her. But… he doesn’t want to think about that right now, doesn’t want to deal with the twinge it causes in his chest. 

“I’m positive I would’ve remembered if I had seen you around,” James amends. 

Her smile turns a bit more tentative, like from outside the gym, and she wades closer in the water, her long, dark hair flowing out around her like spilled ink. “Yeah, you probably haven’t seen much of me. Transferred in about a week ago. Exactly how everyone wants to start their senior year… at a new school with no friends.” 

“We could… We could be friends.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, even though she’s close enough now for him to make out a matching black bra through the water.

“What if… I said I wanted to be something other than friends?”

“Best friends then? Or—”

Her lips push against James’ with none of the uncertainty that accompanied his and Betty’s first kiss right before summer break.

Betty.

His girlfriend, Betty. Betty, the girl he couldn’t quite bring himself to say those three big words to yet though he certainly cares about her more than anyone else in his otherwise shit life. The shit life that she brought light into with her wide, toothy smile and her innocent, full laugh that’s still reminiscent of a safe, happy childhood.

Yes, Betty has been a constant light since the moment they first got paired together on a project in Chemistry last year—a class she was taking a year sooner than required because she was too advanced to stay in sophomore Bio. Like fate, some invisible string connecting them, that brought them together that day. 

_ His  _ Betty. She was his whole happiness…

Until tonight.

That…  _ ache _ . That damnable, unignorable ache in his chest. Starting right in the center of his sternum and spreading outward like an angry, festering wound gathering bacteria. Infecting one small area, a manageable size.

But it’s not satisfied. Not with that puny little bit. It wants more. Craves more. Like frostbite or gangrene, it grows. Left untreated, it swallows any and everything remotely healthy in its path. Until it’s consumed everything.

Chest, limbs, fingers, toes.

It’s all on fire, that piercing, pulsing ache spreading and corroding and ruining… until there’s nothing left to feel. It’s numb. Everywhere.

Except his head.

It’s a riot up there—and it’s all because of Betty. She was his light, his calm, his  _ quiet  _ this whole fucking time and now…

It’s the bitterness coating his every thought that keeps him from pushing Augustine away. It convinces him to pull her closer, a hand sliding into her dark hair and the other snaking around her bare waist, until they’re chest to chest. Nose to nose. Mouth to mouth. 

He wonders, idly, if Augustine can taste it. The bitterness.

Surely she can. How could she miss it when it’s in his head, his mouth, on the tip of his tongue urging him to hurl the loud thoughts in his head at someone— _ anyone.  _ Whatever it takes to purge them from his head and put them somewhere else.

But, if Augustine does notice, she doesn’t care. 

Throwing her arms around his neck, she kisses him. Frantically. Fervently. Like her very being depends on it—like her only source of oxygen, of  _ life _ , hides right behind James’ lips. She tugs on his hair, uses her tongue to beg him to give her what she needs to survive.

He allows her this and when his eyes slide closed, he can almost pretend that it’s her— _ his Betty _ —in his arms but… These lips are a bit too plump, her tongue just a tad too persistent, and…

And this is not what he wants.  _ Who  _ he wants.

He shouldn’t have listened to the acid spewing from his brain, no matter how hurt he was in the instance because...

_ This _ . This is what started it all nearly seventeen years ago. He knows that. He knows what his mom walked in on that rainy night. He  _ knows _ and here he is letting history repeat itself like the fuckup he is. 

He never wants to see Betty have that crestfallen, heartbroken expression his mother wore the night she walked out on his father—and, ultimately, him. And James doesn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps, kissing some woman who isn’t the center of his universe just to satisfy that vicious, cruel voice in his head or drinking his consciousness away when the web gets so tangled that even he inevitably gets caught up in the aftermath.

_ Betty _ .

Betty is what he wants. What he needs. Both his poison and his cure, Betty. He can endure anything, as long as she’s by his side. He’s already made it this far thanks to her.

He just… needs to get out of here. As soon as he can.

Pulling away from Augustine with such sudden force that it splashes water up his shirtless back and onto her confused face, Augustine pretends the obvious regret James is now feeling doesn’t sting.

She’d thought… he’d been enjoying the kiss, at least somewhat. He’d pulled her closer into him, she mentally reasons, and he’d definitely kissed her back. Maybe not as enthusiastically as she had kissed him but…

Clearly, she’d thought wrong. 

Slowly wading up to the shore where James is struggling to pull his Levi’s up his wet legs, Augustine grabs her red dress and—though she knows her no-nonsense mother will lecture her for a half hour for getting the pretty velvet soaked in pond water—she’s too embarrassed to not cover up. Like Adam and Eve ashamed of their newly-realized nakedness in the Garden, Augustine doesn’t want James to see her so… exposed.

Not when he’s just rejected her.

“I don’t… know where we are. Can I get a ride back into town?”

“Yeah, of course,” she replies, grabbing her tights and boots and making a beeline for her truck before James can see the tears welling in her eyes.


	4. exile

The next morning, James wakes early to a pounding headache and four missed calls from Betty. Missed calls because he’d switched his phone to silent before leaving the dance and crashed as soon as he got home, forgetting all about it in his haste to just… fall into the short reprieve of unconsciousness. 

He dials her number as he shuffles to the bathroom. She doesn’t pick up the first time, the line ringing until the voicemail prompts him to leave a message. James doesn’t bother, instead trying again but, this time, it only rings twice before cutting off. He frowns at the call he didn’t end, his brush pausing in his mouth. 

A moment later, his phone chimes in his hand. A message from Betty that reads:  _ can you come over today? _

Still frowning, he hits the call button once more. Like the second try, it only rings a few times before cutting off. Spitting out his toothpaste, James sends back:  _ Sure, I can head over now. Why aren’t you answering my calls?? _

All she responds is:  _ k. see you then _

It’s not like Betty to be so… short with him. It’s also unusual for her to so blatantly disregard his calls. 

_ No matter _ , James reasons. He’ll figure out whatever it is when he sees her in person—something that makes his morning a little less shit. Spending time with Betty is always an escape into paradise, something he won’t be taking for granted again any time soon.

Dances, concerts, conventions—whatever makes Betty happy, James would do it. For Betty, he would.

It was something he was too foolish to realize beforehand and he was ashamed to think it took another girl…  _ kissing _ him to understand it.

But it was a one-time thing. Never again would he let something like that happen.

He not only hurt Augustine—even he wasn’t so dense that he couldn’t see how his actions had affected her last night—but he knew Betty would be devastated if she ever found out. Which is why she simply wouldn’t know about it. There’s no need, not when James knows Betty is all he wants. 

Everything else is insignificant.

Tossing back two Advil before heading down into the kitchen to grab his keys, James comes up short when he spots his dad in the living room. Passed out cold on the floor because he was too drunk to make it the short distance to the couch, both beer bottles and cans surrounding his body. All empty, of course. 

James angrily kicks one, sending it flying into the wall with a metallic clatter, but even that isn’t enough to rouse his father. Nothing is.  _ And one of these days _ , thinks James,  _ he’s going to drink himself to death. _

All because of a mistake—no,  _ a choice _ —that he made all those years ago. A choice James was also stupid enough to make but smart enough to not let continue. 

“What a way to start my Saturday,” he mutters to himself. 

Traffic is light, most of the highschoolers still out cold from their late night at the dance and after-parties. James doesn’t give himself time to consider whether or not Betty might’ve attended any of those after-parties and what may or may not have happened without him there.

He has no reason to not trust her. He won’t let himself go down that road, won’t let himself further sabotage something that has been so good to him.

Adding to his girlfriend’s sudden atypicality, Betty’s not waiting at the door—nearly bouncing in place with excitement like always—when he pulls into her driveway. He walks up the path to her door, trying to not put much thought behind the vague uneasiness unsettling his stomach. Before he has the chance to knock, Betty opens the door and James knows immediately… something is for sure wrong. 

Despite her usual light makeup, it’s apparent that her eyes are a little swollen. A little red-rimmed. A little too glossy.

Without a word, she lowers her gaze and steps back, pulling the door open wider for him to come in. He follows her to her bedroom in silence and, if he thought the quiet between him and Augustine was uncomfortable, it was only because he didn’t know how miserable it would feel between him and Betty. 

“Sorry I returned your calls so late. I—”  _ didn’t get much sleep last night _ , he almost says but catches himself right before the words slip out. 

If she hears the unfinished thought, she doesn’t mention it, instead watching him take a seat on her bed before she sits at her desk chair. Noticeably away from him. 

James is sure his incertitude shows on his face as obviously as an elephant would stand out in a room full of mice. There’s an awkward tension between them that’s never existed before, even in the early stages of their relationship, and he just… for the life of himself, he doesn’t understand why.

Surely she’s not this upset about him not going to the dance with her? He knew she was disappointed but this sort of seems like overkill for—

“James, were you with another girl last night?”

His heart stops in his chest before it restarts, racing at what feels like a mile a minute. Whatever she sees on his face, Betty slowly nods and bites her lip, refusing to make eye contact with him again.

“Betty, look, it’s not what you—”

“Not what I think?” she interrupts, her watery sky-blue gaze snapping up to defiantly meet his and making his heart break. “Well, that’s fantastic. I would love to know what really happened then because Inez told me she saw you leaving with some girl she didn’t know.” 

“ _ Inez _ ? You two haven’t been close since you were like seven. You can’t believe anything she says.”

“So she was lying when she told me you were at the dance?”

James stares at Betty, wondering what would be more incriminating: admitting to what he did or lying to hopefully spare her feelings?

“I thought you didn’t want to go to the dance, James? That’s the whole reason I went by myself.”

“But you weren’t by yourself,” he snaps without thinking. “I  _ saw  _ you—”

“So you  _ were _ there?”

“I had just got there. I went for you, Betty. But then I saw you dancing with that guy— _ and _ laughing! What was so funny anyway?”

She shakes her head, her normally ebullient personality giving way under her mounting frustration. “Let me make sure I’ve got this straight, James: you told me you didn’t want to go to the dance with me, I got ready and went alone, you showed up anyway but didn’t tell me, saw me trying to make the most of the night with a group of friends—one of which happened to be a guy—because I thought my boyfriend wasn’t there… Do I have everything right so far?”

Even though it’s not exactly how he would’ve worded it… he gives a brief nod. 

“Okay, great. So... that was all it took to convince you to leave with some girl after endlessly turning my invitations down?”

His head spins, the light blues and whites and yellows of her room merging into one. “It’s not… like… It’s not like that.”

“Did you or did you not leave the dance with a girl that was not me?”

“Yes but—”

“Then it’s  _ exactly _ like that, James!” she says, raising her voice out of anger for the first time since he met her. 

Betty closes her eyes and takes a deep, shaky breath. He hates that he’s made her like this. He hates that he’s such a fuckup he can’t even manage to treat the most important person to him the way she deserves to be treated. 

When she finally re-opens her eyes, she looks calmer. Too calm. No tears. No anger. No… anything.

He isn’t sure which is worse. 

“Betty, I—”

“I can’t do this, James.”

His heart stops again for the second time in minutes. When it starts back up, it’s not too fast like before. It’s slow, so slow that it’s almost painful. Like it’s losing the will to do it’s job and each  _ ba-dump _ …  _ ba-dump _ …  _ ba-dump _ … takes a conscious effort.

“So…” James clears his throat, trying to dislodge the lump forming there. “What, you… You don’t...  _ want _ me anymore? You’re just finished with me? After one mess up?”

_ And thank God she doesn’t even know just how bad I messed up _ , he thinks. 

“It’s not just this one thing, James. It’s you not quitting smoking after all this time even though I’ve begged you stop more times than I can remember. It’s you never opening up to me about anything. You won’t let me meet your family. You won’t even talk to me about them, actually. I’ve never even seen your house. It’s frustrating knowing you but not  _ really _ knowing you.”

All he can do is sit there, watching her impassively—almost monotonously—list off his indiscretions. He doesn’t know what to say or how she even knows he’s still smoking. He never does it in front of her anymore and doesn’t carry his cigarettes that he “borrows” from his father with him nowadays. 

James is… stunned. Shocked into the same silence he so badly wants to chase away.

“I just…” Betty has to pause to take another breath. “I can’t do this. Not right now. Everything is too much. It’s like we’re always walking on such a thin line and I… I’m tired of trying not to fall, of these emotions turning me into someone I’m not.”

“You… You never gave me any signs that you felt this way?”

“I gave you  _ so _ many signs, James. It’s not my fault if you didn’t see them.”

It hurts to breathe. To think. To  _ be _ .

_ This can’t be real _ , James thinks. This is some God-awful nightmare that he just can’t seem to wake up from. This… this  _ robot _ in front of him is not his Betty.

_ It’s not my fault if you didn’t see them _ .

Or maybe this  _ is _ his Betty, and he just didn’t realize it. Maybe all those things he did these past months that Betty would brush off and forgive him for got under her skin more than she let on, but she was too polite to leave him. 

But it’s not his fault either.

It’s not his fault that his mom left him with the messy shell of the man who used to be his father, drinking away any pain and feelings and memories from morning to night. It’s not his fault that he’s had to practically raise himself, sustaining his life only on the small check this his mother sends every month. It’s not his fault that everything feels so goddamn hopeless and that he didn’t want to burden the one good thing going for him by spilling all his heavy, ugly baggage at Betty’s feet—the feet that have never known neglect because, while her mother may be a little unhinged, she’s there.

Betty’s mother is there and she loves her daughter endlessly enough to almost cover the emptiness left behind by her dad passing before she was old enough to even recognize the sound of his voice.

He didn’t want her to have to see the ugly loneliness that is his life but look at where that landed him: heartbroken. 

Well, ex-fucking-scuse him for trying. It got him nothing, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. 

The bitterness, the same from the night before, claws its way up his throat and he couldn’t stop the hateful words even if he wanted to. “Then I guess it really isn’t such a big deal that I had my tongue down that girl’s throat last night, is it? I mean, I wouldn’t have bothered stopping at all if I knew you were going to leave me for some inconsequential bullshit anyway!”

Betty’s blue eyes are as wide as saucers. A single tear glides down her freckled cheek. All the anger burning him alive immediately fizzles out. 

“Shit, I didn’t…” He shakes his head, standing to head to her because he doesn’t want her crying. This is… never what he wanted. He didn’t mean—

Betty holds up her hand, wiping the wetness on her face with her other. He stops in his tracks.

“I need you to leave.”

“Betty, I’m sorry. I—”

“ _ Leave _ .”

She doesn’t walk him to the front door. Betty barely even lets him fully step out of her room before her bedroom door slams shut behind him. Leaving James standing alone in her hallway, wondering for the life of him how things could go this wrong? Yesterday morning he was peppering kisses across her pretty, freckled face in the library and now…

Now here he is, listless and maybe a bit lifeless and definitely a whole lot numb, outside her door wondering what he’s supposed to do with all this love for her after she crammed it back inside him, no longer wanting it for herself. 

_ Not right now _ , she’d said. But he wasn’t so dumb that he couldn’t easily finish the rest of the unsaid translation:  _ and probably never again _ . 

“What the hell have I done?” 


	5. my tears ricochet

“Did you hear? She had to be excused from second period too because she was so upset.”

James hangs his head, wondering if the gossiping girls are dense or just purposely trying to hurt him. If it was the latter, he wouldn’t blame them.

He wouldn’t blame anyone for wanting to hurt him — he’s in full agreement that he deserves all the pain he’s brought upon himself in the aftermath of his actions and, even then, it doesn’t seem like nearly enough — but he hates that Betty is dealing with the same. Worse, actually, if the stories he’s heard thus far are anything to judge by.

She’s been crying because she’s so hurt that she can’t contain it. Because  _ he _ hurt  _ her _ — apparently bad enough that she had to skip first and second period, as he’s just learned, and skipping is not something Betty does.

At least, she never had to until James came into her life. 

But, luckily for her, she was able to push him out just as fast as she’d welcomed him in. The remainder of the weekend had proven that Betty could excel at shutting him out, if she so wished. He’d got nothing but radio silence from her, even managing to avoid him all morning at school.

Of course, it didn’t help matters that he’d smashed his phone to pieces when he’d gotten home that miserable day so if she’d tried to contact him since, James wouldn’t have even known.

But they have to talk. Too many words have been left unsaid.

James had given her the weekend, given her time and space. He hadn’t been able to properly explain before, letting his anger overtake his shame and sadness because that’s the only way he was ever taught to respond to unsatisfactory feelings, but he so regrets the way his words shoot to kill when he’s mad and he just… James has to let her know at least that much. That he hates himself for hurting her the way he did. 

He’d been determined he was going to find her by lunch, searching through every nook and cranny of the library if that’s what it took, but… The more he heard, the less it seemed like a good idea. 

He wants Betty to know how sorry he is but not if explaining, if seeing him again in person, is just going to hurt her more in the long-run. 

_ Hasn’t he already done enough fucking damage? _

The thought rings through his head just as shrill as the bell signaling the end of third period.

Forget it all. He would just head home now, save her the trouble of having to worry about accidentally seeing him. It’s not like his drunk excuse of father would ever be aware enough to check anything the school sent in the mail concerning his attendance anyway —

“ _ You _ !”

Sharp nails dig into James’ left bicep, flinging him around with surprising strength… though it’s the angry brunette glaring up at him that’s the real surprise. He never imagined Augustine would ever wish to speak to him again, another person he’d senselessly hurt in his attempt to numb his feelings, but when she finishes dragging him into an unlocked custodial closet, it starts to become clear.

“You giant prick, you didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend!” 

“Well, I don’t anymore so I don’t see how it matters much now.”

The closet is dark, the only light leaking in from the crack running along the bottom of the door, but Augustine’s glare is potent enough that he doesn’t have to see it to know it’s there. He can feel it, so vicious it’s like it’s burning holes straight in his skin.

“You don’t see how it matters?” Not so much a question as a venom-coated slew of words. “ _ You don’t see how it matters _ ? Please, tell me you’re not actually that dense, James.”

He doesn’t grace her with an answer. If James has learned anything by now, it’s that giving a woman a stupid answer is possibly even more damning that no answer at all. At least if he says nothing, his words can’t be held against him.

Besides, at this point, she’s already mad enough for all three of them and he can only hope that after she flays him alive, the custodians find his lifeless body in here before it starts to rot. 

“Of course it matters! Because you  _ did  _ have a girlfriend! You had a girlfriend and I kissed you because I didn’t know! I didn’t know because  _ you _ ,” she jabs one of those sharp nails into his chest, “didn’t tell me. I told you I was new here. I don’t know anyone or who they’re with and you — ”

Her voice cracks on the last word, and she instantly clams up. His other senses heightened by the darkness, James hears the shaky breath she takes as she tries to calm herself down. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have even showed up at all today. If he did, Betty might’ve still cried her way through her morning. Or she might not have. Same for Augustine, who he sure didn’t expect to break down in a musty cleaning supply closet and he’s almost positive she didn’t plan this either. 

Maybe it would be better for everyone if he just… wasn’t here. Or anywhere. Ever.

“James,” she finally continues, interrupting his dark thoughts. “Look, I wouldn’t have done that if I’d known. I just… I want to make that clear. I’m not that kind of person. You just… you looked so lonely that night and I guess, with the move and everything, I’ve been lonely too so —”

“We can keep each other company now.”

_ What… is he saying right now?  _ But before James can attempt to suck the words back in, it’s already too late. Too late and too much. “What, let me guess: now that your girlfriend left you—as she should’ve—you’re just  _ so _ obliging that you’re willing to pick me up as the second option?”

“At least you’re an option.”

Augustine takes an audible step back, away from him, accidentally knocking into the door. She lets his words linger in the darkness, in the silence that he’s come to absolutely loathe the past few days.

Though, when she does speak again, he finds that he also loathes the way her words cleave him in half. As if her obvious disgust isn’t his fault for letting his bitterness get the best of him once again. 

“You… really are such a prick.”

She opens the door, the light spilling in so suddenly and all at once that he has to squint, but he can still make out the way she shakes her head, her long ponytail swaying with the motion. Sparing one last disappointed look his way, Augustine leaves James alone.

Alone with his bitterness and residual anger at his own mistakes. Why does he take it out on everyone around him when what he really wants is to punish himself?

He is just a fuckup of epic proportions recently, it seems. And now he can add “prick” to his growing list of said fuckups. 

And, with that enticing thought, he too exits the closet and doesn’t stop walking until he’s in his car, driving away from the school grounds altogether. Away from the two girls he hurt—both unintentional but neither any less severe than the other. 

But the silence in his car does little to alleviate the heaviness in his mind. If anything, it only exacerbates it. 

So, he drives. And drives. And drives. Until he’s unsure where he is and the thoughts blur together in a mix of passing trees and ocean and nightfall. Until the thoughts slow into just one, solid sentence. Repeating again and again in his mind. 

_ Maybe everyone would be better if he just weren’t here at all.  _

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone. i'm new to using ao3 so please bear with me. BUT! i hoped you liked the first chapter. i'm very excited to finally get my interpretation out of my head and into words


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